by Maia Chance
I rushed out of the kitchen.
Hank was standing at the bottom of the main staircase, shoulders hunched, face red, shaking a fist at Effie and at Chester, who was frozen in the front doorway with an armload of bakery bags. Further up the stairs, the Bermans hovered.
“I’m telling you, that mangy cat has fleas!” Hank was yelling. “Why do you have an obviously feral cat inside the inn, anyway?” He paused to spastically scratch his neck.
Effie caught sight of me. “Oh, good morning, Agnes. I was just explaining to Hank that Tiger Boy is most assuredly not feral, and that he does not have fleas.”
Hank swung to face me. “That cat was running up and down the upstairs hall all night, his stupid bell ringing like crazy. Of course, the reason he was running around in the first place is because this place is infested with mice. He finally goes away, but the next thing I know it’s morning and my door is open and I have fleabites.” More neck-scratching. “I think that mangy cat was sleeping on my pillow!”
“Little Tiggy-Wiggy Boy does love to cuddle,” Effie said.
Chester added, “Everyone knows cats like to cuddle with the people who hate them most. They’re passive-aggressive.” He looked at me. “I got apple-cinnamon crullers.”
“I’ve just about had it with this place!” Hank roared. “It’s unacceptable!”
“Please, Hank,” Effie said in a soothing tone. “Allow us to make it up to you. What would you like to do? Hike? Drive to the casino? Eat pie?”
“We wanted to go to Mikey Brown’s funeral,” Lo said. “We think the murderer will be there. People at the dance last night said the funeral is today at one o’clock at Blanshard’s Funeral Home.”
“Cheap thrills,” Myron said.
Effie looked at Hank. “How does that sound? It’s not often that you can attend a murder victim’s funeral.”
“Fine,” Hank said. “But you have to do something about those fleas.”
*
I hosed the pumpkin goop off the back steps and threw the pieces of pumpkin shell in the compost bin. While I ate breakfast in the kitchen, I pulled up the graduate school application forms on my smartphone and sent them to the inn’s printer, which was in Aunt Effie’s office next to her bedroom.
I wasn’t super psyched about the idea of returning to academia, but I figured that was just because I’d spent so much time away. I had loved college. I was psyched about getting out of Naneda, once I figured out who the murderer was and cleared Otis’s name. Even if he was dating Delilah, and even if I couldn’t bear to see him again, I still cared about him and knew he was innocent. Oh, and I’d need to find someone else to help Aunt Effie and Chester with the inn renovations. I mean, I didn’t even have any construction skills. I would be way better off attending seminars and writing papers about gift-exchange cultures.
Next, I did the whole housekeeping thing in a hurry, because I had a Gourd Queen gown-fitting appointment to keep. Effie was downstairs working on the breakfast cleanup, and Chester was leading the gaggle through their stretches out on the lawn.
As I vacuumed and changed towels and scrubbed the inevitable toothpaste blobs from the sink, I couldn’t really remember why I had agreed to go through with being in the parade. Something about wiping the smug look off Delilah Fortune’s face, I guess. But it was starting to look as if that would be impossible. Her last name said it all: fortune smiled on her.
Except—wait a second. In all the insanity, I had totally forgotten about what Lauren had told me the previous night: her sister Lucy had seen Delilah out on a date with Mikey Brown.
“Agnes?” Effie had appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Wonderful—the place is sparkling. Take off those rubber gloves and put the Ajax away. It’s time for your gown fitting.”
While Effie drove us to the community center in her Caddy, I dialed Lauren’s sister Lucy’s number. She picked up after a half-dozen rings. “Yeah?” She sounded breathless, and at least one small child was squalling in the background.
“Hey, it’s Agnes Blythe.” I told her that Lauren had mentioned she’d seen Delilah Fortune out with Mikey Brown. Possibly on a date.
“Oh, yeah. I did. And it was unquestionably a date. It seemed like no big deal at the time—although they were pretty mismatched. But after Mikey was…”
I racked my brain for a child-friendly euphemism for murder. “Iced?”
“Sure. Iced—”
“Mommy, I want ice cream!” a childish voice screamed.
Whoops.
Lucy raised her voice over the whining. “After that, I started thinking about it more. You know, if maybe Delilah had killed him.”
“She has an alibi,” I said. “Supposedly.”
“Oh, too bad. She rubs me the wrong way. The hubs is always raving about her coconut lemon cupcakes.”
“My Aunt Effie always says men aren’t very good about seeing past a layer of makeup, and with cupcakes in the equation—”
“Seriously. Anyway, I saw them at the Mill House. The hubs and I were out for my birthday.” The Mill House is a pricey restaurant out in the countryside toward Lucerne. Think free-range chops, organic micro greens, and local wines.
“When was this?” I asked.
“This past Saturday night.”
The night before Mikey was killed.
“Mikey was dressed in a button-down shirt, which was weird, since he usually went around in sweats,” Lucy said, “and Delilah was doing all the flirty stuff girls do with their hair—hold on, Jeremy! Mommy wants to—oh, I give up. My point is, it was definitely a date. Listen, Agnes, I gotta go. I’ll be rooting for you at the parade on Saturday!” Lucy hung up.
I stashed my phone in my bag and filled in the details for Effie.
She blew a stream of smoke out her cracked window. “It’s all becoming clear. Delilah is a digger.”
“A what?”
“A gold digger.”
“What? With Mikey?”
“His cash, darling. Delilah went on a date with him only after he began flaunting money, correct?”
“Well, yeah.”
“There you are. Trust me, I know a digger when I see one.”
I wasn’t going to argue with that. “You’d think she would’ve been a little more upset about his death if she’d dated him.”
“Oh, the innocence. You don’t understand, Agnes. Diggers don’t care about the men they date.”
“Oh.” How depressing. “Wait. If she’s a digger, then what’s she doing chasing after Otis? He has a very modest income.”
“Even if she’s a digger, darling, she’s not blind. Otis is the most—”
“Stop.” I sighed. “I’m burned out. I’m fried. Two murders, Aunt Effie. Two.” I looked out at the town whizzing past in a blur of autumn gold. “And here we are ferreting around in people’s dirty laundry with nothing to show for it. This is what I destroyed my relationship with Otis for?”
“Once this all blows over, he’ll be back. And if you can score the winning point that lands the real killer in police custody, why, you’ll have the moral high ground and the delicious man-treat.”
“I don’t want the moral high ground.”
“Of course you do. Now. What else do we know?”
I threw my hands up. “Nothing! I mean, we know about people’s horrid little secrets, but who doesn’t have horrid little secrets?”
“I know I do,” Effie said serenely.
Actually, I didn’t have any horrid little secrets. This apparently made me an anomaly in Naneda. “I was so sure that we were going to nail Clifford for killing Mikey, and it turns out we were completely off track. Maybe he wouldn’t even be dead if we had done a better job figuring stuff out.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself—”
“I’m being hard on us.”
“The police haven’t figured out the murderer’s identity, either.”
“Because Albright is obsessed with pinning this on Otis. My point is, we’re not making any connec
tions.”
“Maybe that’s because we aren’t going about it the right way.”
“There is only so much we can do. We aren’t the police. We aren’t detectives. Heck, we aren’t even amateur journalists. We’re just two wannabe innkeepers who the whole town thinks are crazy.”
“Number one, don’t underestimate the crazy card, Agnes. It can come in handy—”
“Pfft.” I slouched in the passenger seat.
“—and number two, we do have a lead.”
“What?”
“Do you recall how Avi Gupta claimed that Clifford Prentiss had signed a prenuptial agreement?”
“Yeah.”
“And you recall Clifford’s cryptic statements last night, about things changing for him and so forth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you also recall how Mr. Solomon, of Solomon and Fitch, Attorneys at Law, was the highest bidder for a date with me at the bachelorette auction last night? He had some stiff competition, too—”
“Fast-forward to the good part.”
“Well, I already arranged my date with Mr. Solomon. We’re attending—” Effie swallowed as though she were queasy. “—senior aquarobics together this morning. Apparently Mr. Solomon goes three times a week. He claims it keeps him spry. I myself shudder at the thought of submerging myself—not to mention my Tory Burch swimsuit—in that chlorine and bacteria broth they call the community swimming pool, but this just may lead to a break in our investigation.”
“That sounds … tenuous.”
“You’re welcome.”
Chapter 19
We parked in the lot at the community center and went inside. We passed a kung fu class, a watercolor class, and a fierce game of girls’ basketball, and pushed through double doors into the half-lit backstage area of the auditorium.
After a little exploring, we found Elaine Cruz in a room stuffed with wardrobe racks and tables heaped with theater props. A shelf on one wall held white polystyrene heads wearing hats and wigs.
“Hi!” Elaine said, looking up from a dress she was fluffing on a garment rack. She was an attractive, dark-haired forty-something in jeans and a white button-down. “You’re a little late, but I have time to squeeze you in”—her eyes flicked to my middle—“before the Pumpkin Princess arrives for her fitting.”
“You mean Delilah Fortune,” Effie said.
“Yes. She’s due at ten thirty.”
Fist pump. As much as I loathed Delilah’s presence, this was a plum opportunity to question her about her date with Mikey.
“It’s just terrible about these murders,” Elaine said. “I don’t know what’s happened to this town. Such a shame. It used to be so safe. And with that Peeper Prize judge in town? Yesterday he was in my bookstore, looking like he was tallying up scores or something on a computer tablet. I feel like he’s going to hold the murders against us. Here. Go ahead and try this one on behind the divider there.” She passed me a gown on a hanger. “It hasn’t been worn by the Gourd Queen since 1998.”
“I can see why,” Effie said.
I held it up. “I thought parade-queen gowns were supposed to be poofy. This is basically an orange tube.”
“That was the fashion in 1998.” Effie draped herself on a chair.
“Don’t you have anything more…” I searched for the word.
“More princessy?” Elaine said in a sarcastic tone. “We generally save the princessy gowns for our younger Gourd Queens.”
“What am I, Betty White?” Actually, I would kill to be Betty White.
“Please, I’m on a tight schedule. Let’s just find a dress that fits, okay?”
“No alterations will be made?” Effie asked.
“Are you kidding?” Elaine said. “This is Naneda, not Paris.”
I took the orange dress behind the room divider and pulled off my hoodie. The wall back there was decorated with framed color photographs of the casts of past Naneda Musical Theater productions. There was Carousel, Kiss Me, Kate, L’il Abner, and Annie.
Something about the Kiss Me, Kate photo caught my eye. The female lead had a cascade of red curls, and standing next to her was … Randy Rice.
Seriously? He was into theater? I never would’ve guessed it, but then, maybe it provided a vent for his little rage problem.
Randy. I had yet to learn more about the meeting Mikey might have been setting up with him at the garage for Sunday, the one Scootch had been banned from per his mom’s text.
I shimmied the Gourd Queen gown up over my jeans and T-shirt. I didn’t bother with the zipper. The gown didn’t flare until my ankles, which meant I had to waddle like a penguin to show Elaine and Effie.
Effie tipped her head. Elaine held her chin between thumb and forefinger.
“I can’t wear this,” I said. “I’ll break my neck.”
“Take tiny steps,” Effie said.
“You won’t really need to walk,” Elaine said. “You’ll be up on the float, sitting on your throne. Mainly you’ll be waving, and the dress is strapless, so…”
The throne. I’d forgotten about that. I was trying to recall—yet again—exactly why I had agreed to do this when Delilah walked in and refreshed my memory.
She beamed when she saw me. “Wow, Agnes, you look fantastic.” She put a hand on her waist. “Gosh, I don’t know why, but for some reason I’m suddenly super hungry for a mondo burrito.”
My impulse to kick something was thwarted by the tight dress around my knees. “I’m super in the mood to watch that Oprah episode about passive-aggressive people.”
“You should.” Delilah’s dimple flashed like a danger signal. “You could learn a lot!” She turned to Elaine. “Where’s my gown?”
Elaine was all smiles as she mounded three or four dresses into Delilah’s arms. “Here you go—you pick. You have such a flair for fashion.”
“Thanks, Elaine.” Delilah went behind the room divider.
I followed.
Believe me, I did not relish the idea of being in a confined space with Delilah. It felt like climbing inside the tarantula exhibit at the zoo. But number one, I was on a mission, and number two, I needed to peel off the orange tube so I could take a full breath again.
Oh—and thank goodness I was fully dressed under the gown so Delilah couldn’t mock my underwear choices.
Delilah was arranging the gowns Elaine had given her on a rack.
“Oh, hey,” she said casually. “You need help with that? I’ve always been really good at peeling bananas.”
“Makes sense, since your chimp warfare instincts are hyperdeveloped.”
“Jeez, Agnes, I try to lighten the mood, and you get all mean? What is with you? Is it because Otis dumped you? He told me all about it last night.” She smiled sweetly. “Late last night. After Clifford’s body was discovered at the dance, I was just too shaken up to be by myself. Otis was really comforting.”
“You know what you are?” I said, peeling the gown down over my jeans. “You’re mean. And you’re an opportunist.”
“I would’ve assumed, with those shoes, that you were a feminist, Agnes. But here you are calling me icky names. Opportunist?”
“I know you went on a date with Mikey Brown. But only after he started flashing cash.”
For the tiniest fraction of a second, Delilah’s eyes rounded in surprise. Then her face was all bemusement. “It was a surprisingly fun date.”
“You’re not denying it?”
“Why would I? I can date whoever I want, Agnes.” Her eyes glittered. “Obviously.”
“But you told me he was always asking you out. You said you were out of his league.”
“Sure, but I didn’t say I never went out with him. He was always asking me out. But I told him I wasn’t going to go unless he could pony up for a dinner at the Mill House. So he did. I figured that’s why he got the cash in the first place—so I’d go out with him. I assumed he sold off a big-screen TV or something.”
“You’re pretty vain.”
<
br /> “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Is everything okay back there?” Elaine called.
“Yes!” I shouted.
I heard Effie say, “She’s just nervous about the parade.”
Delilah was studying the Kiss Me, Kate cast photograph. “Look, it’s Randy Rice. Alexa told me he’s an actor. I guess that explains why he has such a good poker face. And look at this gal in the curly red wig. People have no sense of what is flattering on them.” She looked at me with sad-puppy eyes. “That seems to be a chronic problem in this town.”
“Back up,” I said. “What’s this about Randy having a good poker face?”
“Whoops. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you did.”
“I don’t like spreading gossip.”
“What happened to investigating?”
“Oh, I’m still doing that. Are you?”
“Of course.”
“I just wasn’t sure because, you know, it doesn’t seem like you’re making any progress.”
I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. She’s just baiting me.
“Let’s do another trade,” I said, softly now. Effie and Elaine were chatting, so I didn’t think they could overhear. “If I give you something good, you tell me what you were about to say about Randy’s poker face.”
“Sure thing. Whaddaya got?”
I did a quick mental scan of Things I Knew. Alas, it was mostly speculation.
“I heard Clifford and Belinda Prentiss might’ve had a prenup,” I said.
“So? That’s not a clue. Lots of people have prenups.”
“Well, in the light of their financial problems, maybe it is a clue.”
“I know all about their financial issues. Don’t you remember I was the one who told you about their horrible reviews on countryinns.net?”
“Okay, how about that Karen Brown’s spa is also having financial problems.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have to protect my sources and methods.”
“Get real.”
Delilah was trying to sound flip, but I could tell I had startled her with that tidbit about Karen’s money woes. For once, I was one step ahead of the Cupcake Kiss-Up.
